


Bargaining Chip

by HalloweenBae



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Daryl Dixon Being Daryl Dixon, F/M, Fear, Gen, Imprisonment, Lucille - Freeform, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Rick Being Defeated, The Lineup Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-09 14:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16452038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalloweenBae/pseuds/HalloweenBae
Summary: This was a request for a character who gets captured after the lineup scene instead of Daryl. I hope she likes it, and I hope you all do too! More to come later!





	1. Chapter 1

The sun beat down on the lot of them as sweat dripped off Rick’s curls and into the tear streaming down his cheek. His body was quaking, shaking each droplet of moisture from his locks onto his face as the man in black squeezed his chin. He’d never been like this, so scared, so broken, so defeated. 

“THAT’s the look I wanted to see from you, Rick!” The man’s voice was booming, vibrating the rocks beneath her knees as she stared at him helplessly. 

She couldn’t get up to comfort him, to help Carl or hug Michonne. Instead all she could do was sit there like everyone else with a gun pointed at the back of her head. How did this happen? How did they get here? How could they get out of this? Her own tears began to dampen her skin as she glanced at Glenn and Abraham’s corpses, the twitching of their hands and feet finally coming to a halt. Maybe now that their bodies were resting, their souls could be, too? She shook her head at the thought, wondering if souls could even be possible in a world like this; a world where the devil wore a red scarf and laughed as he murdered her friends.

The man let go of Rick’s face, standing up from his crouched position as he leaned back with a smile. A smile! This man hadn’t stopped smiling since he found their group and forced them onto their knees. Only it wasn’t just a smile, not really. It was a sadistic grin plastered on his face that did a piss-poor job of distracting from his psychosis. “This has been a productive damn day!”

He took his time walking down the line as his bat swung painfully slower than his footsteps. The pendulum of blood and barbed wire dripped with what was left of the dearly departed, getting on the hands and faces of those still on their knees. 

“We did it!” he started, “All of us, together! Even the dead guys on the ground!” He stepped on Abraham’s remains, twisting his boot as shards of bone and brain matter mixed into the gravel underneath his sole. “Hell, they get the spirit award for sure!”

The man kept talking as bits of red hair squished into the spongy material that she tried so hard not to look at. He was there just a moment ago, complete and whole, cracking jokes to keep her awake in the middle of the night. He was just there, and now he’s… gone. She could feel the acid in her stomach start to brew. It swished and swayed inside her each time the man turned his foot into the ground, erasing Abraham from existence. She couldn’t throw up. Not here, not now, not after all that’s happened. She had to hold it in until he was gone, she had to keep it together until…

“Dwight, load her up.” His words wrapped around her like a frigid blanket, stalling the motion of her stomach. 

The air seemed to leave her lungs completely, the blood running cold in her veins as her mouth dropped open in shock. Was he talking about her? Was he looking at someone else? Rosita? Sasha, maybe? She looked around at her family, too afraid of what awaited her beyond the bloody bat. “Maybe we can have a little fun while we wait for Rick to deliver half of his shit.”

“Keep yer damn hands off ‘er!” Daryl growled, his eyes red with sorrow.

“Daryl!” Rick scolded, talking him down with only a stare.

“Really?!” The man in black laughed, running a hand across his face. “You want her to die today?” He glanced at her briefly and bit his lip, pointing at her with the bat. “After what you just fucking witnessed? After all Rick and I accomplished together? You want to go for round three?” He crouched down in front of him. 

“Or is it just you that wants to die, huh, Daryl? Is that it?” He slapped him across the face. “You’d rather sacrifice yourself for the greater good and all that shit, but let me tell you something, Daryl: I am the greater good. I’m the greatest fucking good you’re ever gonna get, and your little girlfriend over there? She’s coming with me, because I take what I want, and you give it to me when I ask, without question!” His voice was so loud this time it shook open a bird’s nest, forcing them to fly out of a nearby tree. 

“So what’s it gonna be, Daryl? Do we have to play for round three?”

Daryl looked at him then at Rick, his eyes soaked in saline as he saw the anguish on his leader’s face. He was exhausted, the emotional roller coaster of the night weighing down on him as he shook his head, trying to keep the peace. 

“Nah,” Daryl muttered, “Not t’day.”

“Good!” He stood up, swinging his bat around in a circle before stopping it with his boot. “You’re learning.” He smiled wide and chuckled, walking toward the van. 

“You or Red Green over here want to do something stupid like fight back, not scavenge or hunt for me by the time we make our first visit...” he grabbed her by the base of her hairline, shoving the bat in her face, “She pays the price.”

She could see the fire in Daryl’s eyes as the man touched her, yanking her head back as he pushed her in front of him. Daryl’s chest was heaving, the vein in his neck bulging as he stopped himself from protecting her from this monster. She closed her eyes as a tear fell down her cheek, knowing full well there was nothing he or Rick could do to stop what was happening. The dull end of the bat pressed against her spine as he made an example of her, showing her off to her family one last time before hiding her away forever. Rick was too broken to be angry, too destroyed to even think straight as he watched the other men push her into the back of the van. 

“We’ll make our first stop in one week. I better not be disappointed.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Get in there.” A blonde man shoved her deep into the vehicle, slamming the doors shut before securing them with a padlock. 

She could hear the man in black say a few more muffled words before banging on the metal doors with his bat, forcing her backwards against the thinly carpeted floor of the van. She thought of all the true crime shows she used to watch before the world had ended, and if she could remember anything useful for her survival. She followed the sunlight and traced the outline of the rivets in the cabin as she looked for any weakness in the structure. 

But what would happen if she found a handle, a latch, or anything else to set her free? What would she do if she opened the door and saw Rick there with Carl, their hair matted with tears as the flies hovered over their friends? How could she bring herself to even get out of the van, to risk Carl losing his hand or his other eye? How could she dare ask someone else to take her place? 

The sound of the other vehicles starting up alarmed her to the fact that they were actually leaving. SHE was actually leaving. No more Rick and Carl, no more Daryl, no more Alexandria. This was it. She was stuck, trapped, lost to her people for what might as well be the rest of her life, and who knew how long that would be? 

What did he plan to do with her, anyways? Kill her? Rape her? Torture her? Neglect her? There was no way of telling, and not knowing the future was scarier than anything else she’d faced in this world. She at least knew her enemy after the virus broke out, figuring out how to kill the walkers and how to avoid them. She knew how to survive, how to get by, but this… this was something different entirely. 

An hour in darkness went by before the man that pushed her into the van opened its doors again, tightly gripping Daryl’s crossbow as he guided her onto the pebble-plated ground. His eyes were wild as they held her fast, scared even, as his greasy blonde hair hung over his disfigured face.

“Let’s go,” a nasal command broke the silence. “Hurry up.” He pointed Daryl’s weapon toward their destination, mocking her like a cheap imitation as his scrawny frame barely supported Daryl’s vest.

“Alright.” She put her hands up, whispering in compliance. “Alright!” She hopped out of the van, keeping a sharp eye on her captor as he motioned toward a large building.

She entered slowly, the weight of Daryl’s arrow heavy on her back even though it wasn’t actually touching her. The halls were faintly lit, each section coming into view only seconds before stepping through it, the illumination shorting in and out of hazy light bulbs hanging overhead. Her hands weren’t even tied, she just realized; the isolated walk of shame somehow making it seem as if they were. She kept them together anyways, her wrists like magnets as the finality of her situation started to sink in. This hallway was about to come to an end, and so, she imagined, was her time in an open and free area.

A whistle sounded out of nowhere, a high-pitched note ringing in the air, echoing against the barren walls of the hallway as it stopped her in her tracks. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the sound intensified. It would have been pleasant under any other circumstances, sweet and melodious as it entered her ears and forced her to look for the source. 

The note dropped down an octave, Dwight’s hands forcing her onto her knees as the sound reminded her of when she first heard it. It was him, the man in black, she knew it was him. That sound chilled her blood again, vibrating in her bones like some sickly sweet song she just couldn’t get out of her head. How could two measly notes strike so much fear inside of her?

She looked up as he turned the corner, noticing that they were both on their knees before him like two royal subjects in front of their king. Their king? Unbelievable. 

He swung his bat up onto his shoulder, looking down at the two of them with a cocky smile. “As you were,” he ordered, wrapping both hands around the base of his weapon. 

She felt Dwight grab her collar and stand her up, walking her into the room at the end of the hallway with no windows. She kept her lips sealed and her wrists together as he pushed her into the corner of the room, keeping Daryl’s arrow in her face the entire time. Great, this must be her cell. This was going to be her life now.

The man in black patted him on the back, nodding with his head to let him take things over from here. “I know what I just did to your friends is kind of fucked up,” he started, looking her up and down. “But we need to work together to build a better world, and Rick wasn’t working well with others, now was he?”

She backed up into the corner of the room, hugging herself tightly as he approached. 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” he laughed. “You were probably too fucking traumatized earlier to catch my name. Let me introduce myself again. I’m Negan, and you are…?” He rolled his hand out to her in a dramatic chivalrous motion. 

Was he serious? Her name? She couldn’t even think of her name right now. What was it? Betty? Brienne? Brittany? Blossom? Blossom! That was it! Why couldn’t she say anything? Why weren’t her lips moving? What was happening? She slumped down against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. She figured he didn’t deserve to hear her name, anyways.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking…” He crouched down in front of her, shifting the weight of the bat in his hand. “Why doesn’t he just kill me and get it the fuck over with? Why am I even here? What good can I possibly do sitting in a cell while Rick pisses his pants back in Alexandria?” He rose his eyebrows, tilting his head for a response.

All she could do was nod, trying not to shiver too much from the fear of what he might do next. The intense sincerity of his stare was both confusing and reassuring. Maybe he really wasn’t going to kill her. Not today, anyways.

“I saw how Rick looked at you when I told Dwighty Boy here to load you up, but he’s too dick whipped right now to do anything about it.” He smiled, this time close enough for her to see the wrinkles in his skin. “But Daryl,” he chuckled, a low growl starting in his stomach before creeping out of his mouth. “Daryl REALLY wasn’t having it, was he?” 

He quickly leaned forward and grabbed her face, startling her as his fingers pressed into her cheeks. He squeezed and squeezed, looking her over with curious eyes as the scary sheen of anger shone brightly from his black irises. The hazy light of the hallway continued to flicker as he broke her skin on the inside of her mouth against her teeth. Is this what Rick felt like earlier this morning? Was he still shaking in the same spot? Was he going to be okay? Was he going to be able to do… whatever it is that this man wanted him to?

“Why do you think that is, huh?” He interrupted her thoughts, moving her head from side to side as if looking for a tattoo that said Daryl or Rick on her neck. “You fucking Daryl and not telling Rick about it? Or is it the other way around?”

She furrowed her brow, her heart racing as she began to taste her own blood. What was he talking about? Fucking Daryl? Fucking Rick? Was that all this guy could think about? Murder and sex? She tried not to think about the pain he was causing her, and instead focused on what she thought he wanted her to say. If she was sleeping with Rick, that might make her an expensive bargaining chip for later. If she was sleeping with Daryl, well, he might have a little more to worry about…

“It’s not like that.” She divulged through pursed lips, hoping it was enough.

“She speaks!” He practically whispered, relaxing his grip on her face. He smiled and smoothed his thumb over her bottom lip, a few scarlet drops smearing onto his finger. “You expect me to believe that? A hot little piece of ass like you in the apocalypse and none of them wanted a bite?”

Oh God, he was going to rape her, wasn’t he? That’s why he took her instead of Daryl. All those innuendos he used while killing her friends were lost on her in the pit of fear, but now seemed to be crystal clear. He may as well just kill her like he said, and get it the fuck over with. She closed her eyes and took in a slow deep breath, gathering the strength she knew that she’d need. 

“I’m not…” she opened her eyes and looked at him. 

“Not fucking anyone?” He laughed and let go of her, sucking her blood off of his thumb before glancing back at Dwight who had his weapon trained on her this whole time. “I know it’s the apocalypse and everything, sweetheart, but even Dwight gets his fair share of ass here and there.” He ran a hand over his face, looking her over in disbelief. “Shit that bad in Alexandria you didn’t have time for it, or…?”

She knew that someone like him wouldn’t be able to wrap his mind around the concept of being satisfied with emotional intimacy alone. She knew that the idea was foreign to a lot of people even before the world had ended. Her mother had always asked her when she would get a boyfriend already, or hell, even a girlfriend. She never had the heart to tell her that the idea of either never really crossed her mind. 

Things were different when Rick introduced her to Daryl, though. She felt at peace with him, understood and appreciated. So much so that she knew he was just like her, even if he never said it. He didn’t have to. He never asked her about sex, not even once. There weren’t ever any assumptions about why she wasn’t seeking that kind of companionship. He trusted her and she trusted him, their emotional bond innate, and that was good enough for her.

She knew that she couldn’t really understand what it was like to want to fuck everything that walked. The man crouching down before her in this cell was as opposite to her as two people could possibly be, but he didn’t have to know that. If she kept him guessing, he might be more inclined to keep her alive. 

“They’re not my type.” She gave him a piece of bait, hoping he’d take it. 

“No?” He licked his lips and smirked. “You don’t like mountain men or rednecks? Can’t say I blame you.” He stood up and swung his bat onto his shoulder again, looking like a giant in the lighting behind him. “I don’t want to hurt you. I really don’t. I’ll give you a little bit of time to get your shit together and we’ll talk again.” He paused, as if remembering something he wanted to say. “Dwight will get you some clean clothes and some water. In the meantime, just pray Rick doesn’t do anything stupid.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hours turned into days as she got to know the inside of her cell like the back of her hand. The walls were made of concrete brick, no spot big enough for her to dig her nails in between to even think about prying them apart. She’d found a cold spot hiding in the far right corner to keep her cool if she wanted to doze off, but her brain wouldn’t let her. It couldn’t forget the sights and sounds of that early morning. Nothing could. 

Dwight had come in intermittently with clean clothes, bread and water to keep her mind off the horrifying memories that kept replaying in her head. He never really said anything, and often tossed food at her like a dog. Only most people treated their dogs a little nicer than that.

“Thank you.” She took a chance one morning and brushed his hand with her dry fingertips. 

The air in the room changed as he stopped mid-turn, holding onto the other end of the bread as he looked her over. She could tell he was trying to distance himself from her, to keep his cool, but her gratitude had thrown him off.

“He doesn’t want to hurt you. He means that, you know.” He let go of the bread as she drew it in close to her chest, making sure he wasn’t going to take it back. 

She turned the piece of bread over in her hands, inspecting it as she noticed a small spot of green mold on the outer ridge of the crust. Either they really did need Rick to provide for them, or they were giving her shitty bread on purpose. “I think that he does want to hurt me… just not how you think.” Her eyes darted up at him.

“He wants to keep Rick in line, and if he has to use you to do that, he will.” He crouched down close to her, setting his crossbow on his knee. “My advice is to…”

“Your advice?” She spat. “What do you know about any of this? About being in this cell? About losing someone you love?”

The man swallowed hard, looking at the floor for a few seconds before looking back up at her. His eyes started to water as he chewed on his lip and stared off into space for what seemed like hours. “I know enough.” He nodded, as if reassuring himself of something he’d forgotten. “If you do what he asks, he might go easy on you.”

“Easy on me?” She laughed under her breath, glancing at his face. 

She noticed how he tried to cover it up with his long scraggly locks even amidst her fear in the clearing that morning. It wasn’t something that you easily forget, the skin on his cheek was twisted and malformed. Red, white and yellow creases created grooves and valleys on his face as it continued to heal. Guessing from the pattern it had formed, it looked to be a burn from an iron of some sort, but she hadn’t seen any finely pressed clothes on the people holding her captive. This burn wasn’t an accident, no, this burn was a punishment.

“Is he going easy on you now that he did that to your face?” She shook her head, hoping she was right about the origin of his injury. “Look, you may be out there distracting yourself from whatever he took from you, but all I have are these walls. These four blank canvases and all they do is paint the same pictures for me over and over again.”

He nodded, seeming to understand her plight before he sniffed and rubbed his nose. “You’ll get over it. We all do.” He stood up and closed the door.   
—————

Three loud knocks woke her from the slumber she had just barely fallen into. She was dreaming of Abraham, of sharing a cigar with him on the back porch of her parents house while he talked shop with her dad. It almost seemed real, her ginger companion shooting the shit with her father who had long since passed. They were talking about football and politics, about how kids these days just don’t appreciate all that they have. Maybe he reminded her of her father in some weird way… or maybe it was a sign that they had finally met up in the afterlife, and were sharing embarrassing stories about her. 

Either way, it was the first pleasant escape her mind had fashioned for her in this prison, making it seem like he was still there. If she closed her eyes long enough, she might even believe he’d be waiting for her back at Alexandria. If she ever got out of this mess, that is.

The knocks sounded again, Negan’s voice different as his knuckles rapped against the metal door. “Are you done being Secretive Sally in there? Because I think I’ve left you with Dwighty Boy long enough, don’t you?” He laughed and twisted the handle open, a beam of light shining into her eyes.

She sat upright, wincing as she lifted a hand over her face. “Jesus,” she whispered, not completely aware of her surroundings just yet.

“No, not Jesus. Negan.” He winked and set a tray down next to her, scooting it forward as he kept a little distance between them. 

Now she remembered where she was… and what had happened. “What’s this?” She asked, clearly able to smell that it was more than just a moldy piece of bread.

“A peace offering.” He licked his lips, taking the top off the tray. “Smells good, doesn’t it?”

She looked at the tray then up at him, his hair still wet from a recent shower. She stared as the water dripped onto the collar of a gray t-shirt instead of that blood red scarf and black leather jacket. His clean ocean scent almost overpowered the aroma of the strawberry pancakes sitting next to her, forcing her to become aware of her own awful scent in the process. She didn’t know which one she needed more, a hot shower or a warm meal.

“Pancakes?” Her stomach started to growl. “Is it morning?” She reached for the fork and knife only to have his booming voice scare her away. 

“Careful!” He bit his lower lip. “You think I’m really going to let you get your hands on a fork and a knife when I just clocked you’re friends into tomorrow? You think I don’t know you want to jab that thing so far into my neck that I bleed out all over this goddamn floor?”

She leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why did you even bring it in here, then?”

“Easy.” He took the utensils in his hands, cutting up the pancakes as slowly as possible. “You give me an answer… a TRUTHFUL answer, and I’ll give you a bite.” 

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” She kept her arms folded in front of her.

“If I wanted you dead, it would have happened already.” He winked at her again, sending a chill down her spine as he stabbed the hot cake with his fork. “Here.” He showed her the piece of food and took a bite, proving to her that her breakfast was safe. “See? Now will you stop fucking looking at me like that and get over here already?”

She uncrossed her arms and scooted closer to him. “Okay.” She surrendered, thinking of how good the pancakes would taste after days of dry bread.

“Okay!” He smiled wide and licked his lips, putting another piece on his fork. “Let’s start with something easy. What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Blossom.” 

“Blossom?!” He leaned back. “You’re shittin’ me! Blossom, like the show, Blossom? Joey Lawrence ‘Whoa!’ Blossom?! I would have taken you for a Sarah or Katie, but Blossom?”

She stared at the piece of pancake in his hand.

“Oh yeah, shit, sorry.” He brought the fork toward her, keeping his eyes on her open mouth as he fed her. 

The pancake was soft and moist, the maple syrup having just enough time to settle in without making it soggy. She closed her eyes and wrapped her lips around the fork, holding onto it for dear life as she pretended she was in an IHOP instead of this place. She felt Negan slowly pull it out from her lips, his breath stilling in the silence of the cell as it left her mouth. 

“How good does that feel sliding down your throat, hmm?” His words made her open her eyes, noticing how intently he was staring at her.

Could she play into his game without risking herself? Without sacrificing all she’d fought for up to this point? If she pretended to be into him, would he see right through her and get even more angry, taking it out on Rick? If she resisted him, would he suffer the same fate? 

She swallowed her food and weighed the pros and cons. The man wasn’t terrible to look at, that’s for sure, and maybe she’d make an escape plan before he tried to do anything too serious. Maybe she could play it cool, drag it out until she had a better grip on the place. Maybe Daryl was already on his way to save her. Maybe not. It didn’t look like she had much of a choice here, and decided it was worth a shot. If she died, she died, and Rick would have one less thing to worry about. 

“It feels good. Thank you.” She kept her mouth open and batted her eyes at him.

“Thank you?” His lips curled into a smile. “You’re welcome, Blossom.” He put another piece on the fork. “Next question: How likely is Rick to come in here, guns blazing, to save your ass? I mean, between us girls, how close are you, exactly?”

“I don’t think Rick would come for me after the sick shit you pulled the other day.” She felt her chest heave. “We’re close friends, but it’s nothing like that. He’s with someone else, anyways.”

He fed her another bite. “Who is he with?” 

“Michonne.” She finally said after chewing her second bite. 

“The girl with the dreds? Shi...ot!” He turned and cut up a few more pieces. “And our rough and tumble boy Daryl? Who is he with?”

She didn’t really know what to say, the simple answer being that he was with her, but not really. They had spent so much time together, hunting, scavenging, running, fighting, even sleeping in the same bed together after long days, but… This man’s definition of ‘together’ was entirely different.

“You’re a bad liar, you know that?” He told her, shrugging and taking the bite into his own mouth. “I can just see you trying to think up some fake-ass answer to throw me off.”

“He’s with me,” she divulged.

“There!” He spread his arms out wide like an orchestra conductor. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? I mean, I wouldn’t want to be caught fucking a man looking like that, but hey, to each their own.” He smirked and unscrewed the cap off a bottle of water. “I could tell you two were together when he looked like he was going to snap my neck and drink my blood right then and there.”

She smiled briefly, imagining that scenario playing out in her head as he made a show of tasting the water before offering it to her. She scooted forward to reach the lip of the bottle, leaning toward him as his hand caught her cheek. 

“Easy now,” he whispered, sliding his thumb under her chin. He pressed the bottle to her lips, controlling the flow of water as it entered her mouth. “Not too fast,” he smirked, watching her suck down the water more quickly than she ever had before. “Good.”

She could tell by his tone that he got off on holding her in his hands while she drank, but at this point she didn’t really care. The only bit of water Dwight had given her was in a small pixie cup they gave four-year olds during snack time at preschool. She hadn’t had a whole bottle of water to herself in days. 

The bottle was empty before she knew it, the clear plastic crinkling as Negan tilted her head upwards to get the very last drop. She was surprised he let her take all of it, but if this man was anything, it was unpredictable.

“Thank you,” she whispered again, scooting away from him as his hands reluctantly left her skin. “Thank you for feeding me.”

He put the lid back on the water bottle and nodded. “You’re gonna need your strength today, Princess.”

“It’s Blossom.”

“Right, Blossom,” he laughed under his breath and shook his head. “Today we’re collecting from Alexandria.”


	4. Chapter 4

The gates of Alexandria opened, the sight of her old home stirring a bittersweet feeling in the base of her gut. The desire to hop out of the truck and run through the entrance to her old house was overwhelming, but Dwight’s close proximity kept her still. Instead she watched from the passenger seat of a truck as Negan taunted Rick; leaning and laughing, smiling and smirking as he jutted his bat in his face. 

She started to squint, the apocalypse not a friend to the contacts she had to rip out of her eyes, as blurry outlines of the people she had spent the past few months with started to gather around Rick and Spencer. Their faces were ripe with concern, slowly coming into focus one by one as Negan undoubtedly continued to monologue. She leaned forward in her seat, straining her ears as she heard a faint snarling that she knew could only belong to one type of creature. She turned around in her seat quickly enough to make Dwight pull his gun on her, but pointed out the window.

“Oh that?” Dwight smiled and put his gun away. “That’s just another part of the show we brought from the Sanctuary.” He grabbed ahold of her collar and made her watch as Negan took it out effortlessly with a few swings of his bat. These people had thought of everything, hadn’t they?

“Come on.” Dwight pushed her out in front of him, taking Daryl’s crossbow off his back and shoving it into hers again. He stopped just a few feet short of Negan as the other Saviors gathered together.

Rick looked down at his feet, baffled at his limited options in this scenario before looking up and spotting her. He knew this was his fault, that he could have done something to prevent him from taking her, but what? What could he have possibly done? What could he possibly do now? He shook his head as Negan pranced around him in a circle, his curse words just a part of the scenery at this point. 

“Blossom, are you…” His crystal blue eyes shone through scarlet frustration as he noticed how trapped they both were. 

“NO!” Negan’s voice came down like a clap of thunder. “Nope!” He stepped in between them, cutting off any future communication. 

Rick bit his lip. 

“She’s mine now.” He stated matter-of-factly. “You don’t talk to her, you don’t look at her, you don’t touch her, hell… if I even get the impression that you’re thinking about her, I might just have you choose your favorite body part and chop it off, right here in front of everybody! Is that what you want, Rick?” He leaned to the side, grinning as he stared him down. 

“No.” He swallowed hard, making sure to look anywhere except at Blossom.

“Good! Because… like half the shit in this neighborhood, Rick, she belongs to me. I thought you understood that after our last little chat.” He wrapped an arm around his shoulder, bringing him around to face her as he pulled a knife out of his holster. “Maybe I’ll start with an ear or a nose… or maybe something a little more memorable...” He held onto Rick as he brought the knife to her face, forcing her to look away as it trailed down her chin and throat.

She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, the warm blade dancing over her skin as it sliced through the fine hairs on her face and neck. She could see the blood vessels in her eyelids spread across her field of vision like bolts of lightning, pulsating as her heart beat wildly in her chest. She never thought she would want to be back in her cell, cold and alone on the concrete floor, but here she was.

She tried her best to keep calm as his blade taunted her, opening up a hot trail of blood onto her bra as she kept her eyes closed tightly. Was he going to kill her right now? Right here? Right in front of Rick? Should she start praying for her soul and a quick death? 

“Careful…” Negan brought the knife back up to her throat, breaking skin over her most precious vein. “Careful how you look at me, Rick.”

“Yeah, we get it,” Rosita yelled, “We won’t look at her, okay?” She crossed her arms over her chest and stamped her foot. 

Blossom opened her eyes as Negan’s attention switched over to Rosita, the knife leaving her skin as he sauntered over to his next victim. She finally exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath this entire time. She wanted to look at Rick, Aaron, or hell, even Spencer for some emotional grounding, but instead met up with Dwight’s frigid stare.

“Show me your house.” Dwight ordered, nudging her along with the crossbow. “See if you have anything good in there.”

————

Her house was in disarray as she reluctantly showed Dwight into her living room. The chair in the corner was kicked over, a pillow already cut in half with its contents strewn across the sofa made it look as if some of Negan’s men had already searched her place. Maybe they had worked quickly, or maybe Daryl had a temper tantrum after they took her that morning. It was difficult to say.

“Here,” was all she could manage to say. She shrugged her shoulders as Dwight pushed past her.

“You live here alone?” Dwight wasted no time in looking through the kitchen drawers, pulling them out as loudly as he could.

“No.” It took everything in her power not to tell him to stop, not to touch that, to leave those alone, but she held her tongue. 

“Got a roommate, or...?” He found one of Daryl’s skinning knives and put it in his pocket. 

“Yes.” She sat on the couch, figuring she might as well take a load off while he was taking her things.  
“A roommate.” She told him, rolling her eyes. 

She smiled for a brief moment, surprised at how much comfort being in her own home actually gave her. Even though she was still technically a prisoner, her current surroundings and absence of Negan really seemed to put her at ease. She spread her arms across the top of the couch as she watched Dwight open up her refrigerator, shoving fruits and vegetables into his bag. 

“Get up.” He walked up to her after he finished stocking up. “This isn’t a fucking vacation.” His grip on her shirt was jarring yet familiar as he brought her to her feet. “If Negan came in here and saw you sitting like that…” he trailed off, his eyes darting from her to the front door. 

“He’d what? Cut my neck and chest open?” She looked down at her blood stained shirt. 

“That was for Rick,” he clarified.

“Well, it seemed kinda personal.” She glanced at the stairs then back at Dwight, hoping he still had a soft spot for humanity. “Can I at least get a different shirt while I’m here? One without blood on it?” 

The wheels in Dwight’s head were turning, each cog clicking into the other to aid in their circular movement as his eyes stayed still. His mind played out each scenario that could happen in the next few minutes, one where she escaped by jumping out the window to her imminent death or sudden injury, one where she grabbed a gun stored away in a dresser drawer and shot him, and one where she just grabbed a clean shirt.

The first two scenarios would no doubt result in his death, by her hand or by his, and maybe that was okay. Negan seemed to be so hyped up about the haul here in Alexandria that he might just shoot him in the head or slit his throat, if he was lucky. If he wasn’t, well then, who knows what he’d do to him. 

“Just a shirt.” He gripped her tighter and nodded in the direction of the stairwell, following her close. “You got any soap or shampoo up here?” They took the stairs together, almost tripping over each other’s feet until they reached the second story. 

“Yeah,” she told him, pointing to the bathroom. “In the shower over there.” 

Dwight pushed her into the bedroom and headed into the bathroom, turning the light on and running the water.

She made a rush for Daryl’s dresser, running her palms over the t-shirts and tank tops he wore when he was home, his scent overpowering her senses. It was like he was there with her, the sweat mixing in with the dryer sheets they had found a few weeks ago, almost like they had washed them in the laundry. 

She smiled and took her shirt off, tossing it onto the floor as she chose a black t-shirt of his with the sleeves cut off, hoping it would cover up the cuts Negan had so recently given her.

“BANG!” 

A gunshot sounded close to her head, making her drop to the floor as Dwight ran out of the bathroom with his crossbow trained and ready. A deafening hum rang in her ears, getting more high-pitched as she looked up at him, his face just as surprised as hers. He looked outside, then down at her, offering his hand to help her stand upright. 

“They shot through the window.” She thought he said, even though all she could hear was a muffled “ought ough indow” through the intense ringing. 

She blinked a few times as she tried to get her bearings, rubbing her ears as she watched Dwight walk over to the window to get a better look. He scanned the area below them, the sunlight highlighting the red in his dirty blonde hair as a disappointed look crossed his face. Whoever it was that fired the gun, he wasn’t very happy about it. 

“What was that?” She yelled, not fully able to hear herself.

“Negan,” he mouthed. 

She rolled her eyes and turned around to see Daryl standing in front of her, his chest heaving from running into the house and up the stairs. 

“Daryl!” She didn’t think she’d ever get to see him again, convinced he was out on a run with Michonne when she didn’t see him at the gate. Maybe he came back in after they had arrived, or maybe he was doing something else at the time. Either way, it didn’t matter. He was here and so was she. For now, anyways. 

She lunged at him, the gunshot reminding her of what little time she had left. She wrapped her arms around her friend, squeezing tightly as she felt him return the gesture with hands around her waist and a chin in her shoulder. 

“Yer bleeding, what the fuck?” He pulled back to look at her chest. “Did’ya do this to ‘er, ya sick son of a bitch?” He walked over to Dwight who now had his crossbow pointed at them both. 

“Daryl, he didn’t!” She defended him. “Daryl, it wasn’t him!” She walked toward them with her hands up. 

“Oh yeah, well who the hell was it, then?” He pointed at her torso. “And where are your clothes?”

“I came in here to change my shirt, and it wasn’t him that cut me, it was…”

She stopped as Daryl and Dwight’s faces dropped, their eyes widening as they looked behind her toward the stairs. The vibrations of heavy footsteps shook the floor beneath her feet as she felt his presence. The muscles in her thighs started to twitch, her abs clenching down as she saw the bat swing around in her peripheral vision. It was him. 

“What’s going on here, Dwight?” He rested the bat on his shoulder and walked past her, standing directly in front of his soldier. “Because, from the looks of it, with her shirt off, and your pants being undone, I’m drawing a conclusion that you wouldn’t really like me to draw.”

“It wasn’t like that, Negan, she…” His words were cut off as Negan grabbed his chin, slamming him against the already broken window. 

“No? Then why does Daryl look like he wants to break you in half instead of me right now, huh, Dwighty Boy?” He lifted him up by his face, breaking more glass against the back of his skull. 

“I wanted to change my shirt!” She interjected, hoping it would spare him. “He went to the bathroom to take my things, and a gun went off.” She looked at Daryl to make sure he understood.

“Is that true?” He smashed Dwight’s head through the window, breaking the glass as it shattered onto the ground below them. 

“Yes,” he barely muttered, his eyes wide with fear. “That’s what happened.”

“Good.” He smiled, slow and steady like the Grinch who stole Christmas. “Because you know we don’t tolerate that here.” He let go of Dwight’s face and turned toward Blossom. “We may take half your shit, but we don’t rape people, do we, Dwight?” 

“No.” He rubbed the back of his head to see that his hair was now drenched in blood.

“Go get that checked out.” He smirked, pointing to the stairs without looking at him. “I can handle it from here.” He winked at Dwight as he left the room, returning his attention back to her. Without missing a beat he licked his lips, a sight she knew meant imminent danger as he took his time waltzing toward her. 

“No looking.” He took a step forward, the words leaving his mouth dark and ominous as they held her still. “No talking.” Another step closer. “No touching.” He stopped directly in front of her, lifting her chin with his fingertip. 

“You broke all three of those rules in about two seconds, and you thought… what, exactly? That I wouldn’t find out? You thought that maybe Dwight wouldn’t tell me if I hadn’t come up here after Daryl ran in here like a bat out of hell?” He smiled, motioning with his fingers as if they were two tiny legs running across the air. 

“Who's gonna pay for that mistake? Him?” He let go of her chin and backed up, walking over to Daryl as he shoved Lucille into his chest. “Rick’s been more than cooperative this whole time, and I’d hate for the two of you to be the ones to ruin it.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not ready to add Daryl onto the list with Glenn and Abraham. “It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t.” Negan grunted as he wrapped both hands around the base of the bat, swinging it up and over Daryl’s head before stopping millimeters in front of his face. 

Blossom’s mouth dropped open before a scream could manifest itself inside her throat. Flashbacks of her two friends being pounded into nothing but blood and brains washed over her, paralyzing her with trepidation. It wasn’t until she took a breath and came out of her daydream that she realized her friend was still standing. 

Daryl stared at him as the bat hovered over his head, his eyes bright with rage as he took a step toward him. His nostrils flared as he puffed up his chest, bumping his head against the wood of the bat. 

“You don’t scare easy!” Negan shook his head in disbelief, smiling wider than she’d ever seen before. “I like that.” He dropped the bat but kept his eyes on Daryl. “I see why she likes you now, Daryl… but lucky for you… I have bigger fish to fry.”

He took a step back and swung his bat, looking over at Blossom. “Grab your shirt and let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

The door to her cell opened wide, staying ajar for the first time since she walked down the hall that dreaded morning. She rubbed her face and stared at it skeptically, her eyes always having to adjust to the brightness no matter how many times it was opened. The afternoon sunlight came in through the hallway at an angle that signaled two o’clock. She’d overslept.

“He wants to see you.” Dwight came into view, this time without Daryl’s crossbow to weigh him down. 

Oh no, what did Rick do? Was this it? Was this the moment where she actually had to pay for his disobedience? Did he actually get a backbone after all of that groveling? Was this the last time she would see the inside of this cell, these four blank walls, Dwight’s disfigured face? She sucked her breath in quickly and looked at the marks she had made on her arm. It had been four days since they came back from Alexandria. 

“Hurry up, he hasn’t got all day!” He placed his hand on the holster of his gun, knowing full well he wouldn’t use it on her.

“Alright,” she smiled sadly, walking into the hallway. She took one last look at her cell, her home for the last two weeks, and nodded it goodbye. She’d seen the last of Abraham in there, her dreams continuing to keep her company as Negan left her all alone.

“Let’s go.” Dwight grabbed her shoulder and turned her to the left, leading her down the hallway and up a flight of stairs. His grip on her arm remained loose until another Savior walked by, his demeanor and strength changing entirely before shoving her into a room at the end of the hallway.

“What is this place?” She looked around as he pushed her into an immaculately designed master bedroom.

“This is his room.” Dwight choked down, walking her past two leather couches and a coffee table. “He told me to…” he trailed off, spotting a dark garment laid out on the bed in front of them.

Dwight stopped mid-step, letting go of her arm as he stared at the cloth. He blinked a few times, slowly as his hands started to shake and venture toward the bed. He swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat making it difficult as he ran his fingers over the soft fabric.

It was a dress. 

She’d never seen a dress throw someone off like this before, especially not someone like Dwight. He looked like he had seen a ghost, as if this black dress was a sign, a bad omen. His eyes found hers as they filled with dread, his hands still shaking. He knew this dress intimately.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, taking a step toward him. She glanced at the dress before searching his face for answers.

“I’m sorry,” he exclaimed, spit finally collecting in the corners of his mouth. 

The hair stood up on the back of her neck, alarms going off inside her brain. She felt her heart drop into her stomach, that all too familiar sensation of nausea retching in her gut. This dress actually was what she had feared it would be, a burial shroud for her funeral. Rick must have done something stupid enough to make Negan get this traditional with his executions. Was he going to bash her head in in front of his entire community, to set an example for what he was going to do to Rick? Or did he have something far worse in store for her?

“You’re sorry?” Negan’s voice was smooth like butter. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly he could change his tone to fit the situation. “Sorry for what?”

She turned around to face him, no longer able to take in Dwight’s trembling figure.

“Sorry she’s off the market now?” Instead of Lucille he had a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Off the market? What did he mean, off the market? The market of the living? She looked at Dwight. She looked at the dress. She looked at Negan, confused.

A smile spread across his lips, the whiskey barely touching it. “Put it on her for me, will ya?” He motioned toward the dress, winking at his hired hand.

“What?” Dwight stared at him in disbelief. 

“Take her clothes off, and put the dress on her.” He took another sip, walking in between them. “And don’t make me ask you again.” He slid his other hand over the holster of his knife, gripping it briefly before letting go. 

Dwight had done this before, to someone he cared about immensely. The hesitation wreaking havoc on his body told her that he’d rather die himself than do it to anyone else again. But something was holding him there, a piece of the puzzle still missing that kept his loyalty to Negan a top priority. He looked at her like Rick did that morning when he took her, his hands tied together by his master’s wishes. “Simon should be the one to…”

“Simon is busy collecting from the Hilltop.” He rose his eyebrows, standing up straight and tall as he dwarfed his subordinate in every way.

She could tell Negan was getting immense pleasure out of Dwight’s pain and decided to turn the tables by stripping. She took off her shirt and unbuttoned her pants, kicking off the slip-on shoes they’d given her. She slid out of her socks and walked over to the dress to pick it up before he stopped her. 

“No.” His voice was almost as stern as it was back in Alexandria. “Not you.” He put up a scolding finger, and just as quickly as he had yelled at her, a smirk crossed his face.

“You see how eager she is?” He turned to face Dwight. “Just. Like. Sherry!” He chuckled and leaned back, punching Dwight playfully in the shoulder. “I mean, I was gonna ask her beforehand, but the two of you decided to have your little emotional outburst with Daryl back in Alexandria instead. I had to let her rot in that cell for a little bit before I’d offer her the dress.” He glanced over at her but kept facing Dwight. 

“Hand me that dress, sweetheart.” He held his hand out to her as he finished his drink.

Ask her? Ask her what? To sacrifice herself? And whose Sherry? “You’re… you’re not going to kill me?” 

“Kill you?” he laughed, grabbing the dress and handing it to Dwight. “Shit no! If I kill you, then Rick the Prick would stop providing for me, and I’d have a whole lot of other shit to deal with.” He watched Dwight reluctantly unzip the dress. “Let me ask you this, Blossom. Do you want to stay in that cell forever?” He took the dress from Dwight.

“No.” Her answer was almost immediate. 

“That’s what I thought. What if I told you you could live like a queen?” He stepped closer to her. “Wear clean clothes, get regular showers, drink water and champagne to your heart’s content, share quarters with like-minded women and get your own fully furnished bedroom at the end of the day?” He bent down in front of her, tracing his fingers down her calves. “What if I told you I’d take care of you in every way you needed?” He looked up at her with convincing eyes.

Blossom wasn’t sure exactly what was happening. Was he offering her… a job? A lifestyle? A more comfortable form of enslavement? She looked up at Dwight who had resigned to staring at his feet, unable to watch what this Sherry person had no doubt gone through before. Who was she? His sister? His girlfriend? His wife?

She looked back down at Negan, his fingertips gentle as they slid the dress up her body. He was below her, like she was that morning when they first met. She could hurt him from this angle if she had a weapon, but… of course she didn’t have one. The only weapon she had left was her brain, and it was telling her to accept this wildly vague offer. To get her close enough to survive in this toxic environment… to help protect Rick. 

His hands pulled the fabric up around her hips, his eyes meeting hers as he finally stood up straight. His stare burned into her, making her forget about Dwight who was only a few feet away from them. It was a confusing feeling as she slid her arms through the sleeves, a mixture of fear and intrigue, with a little bit of hope. She decided to go along with this plan he had for her, to do her best to keep him interested. 

“Yes,” she said, feeling him zip up her back as he drew her close. “I’d like that.”


	6. Chapter 6

Negan led her through a set of double doors to a room filled with women, only they weren’t like any of the women she had seen back at Alexandria or Hilltop. These women were all wearing dresses, black and form-fitting like hers as they sat on couches with their legs shaved and crossed as they sipped on wine and read outdated magazines. There were women of all shapes and sizes, all races and colors but their eyes all seemed to burn the same red-hot hole into her head. She stepped backward as soon as she entered, running into Dwight as she got the hint that she wasn’t welcome there. He motioned for her to turn around. 

“Ladies,” Negan started his address. “This is Blossom from Alexandria.” He picked up Lucille where he’d left it next to the door and started twirling it. “She’s one of of Rick’s people,” He pointed to her chest. “Or she was.” He chuckled and dropped the bat to his side, licking his lips.

“She’s one of us now, one of you. She wears the same clothes as you, and I expect you all to treat her…” he stepped in front of a redhead who looked especially annoyed by her presence. “With the utmost respect.” He lifted her chin with his finger and held her gaze.

“Sherry,” he called to another woman, “Why don’t you help your new sister get cleaned up and ready for bed?”

Sister? Was this some kind of sorority? Were they all sister wives now? Is that what he meant by taking care of her needs? Was he actively sleeping with… she attempted to count… all eight of these women? And wait, Sherry? Sherry?! Isn’t that the name he used to torture Dwight with? Was she here? Was she still…? 

Blossom couldn’t help but scan the crowd to put a face to a name. Who there looked like a Sherry? What does a Sherry even look like? It wasn’t the redhead, that’s for sure, not the brunette, and probably not the scared blonde shaking in the corner. She was someone else, someone who would have fallen for Dwight before his face had gotten…

“Hi, Blossom,” Sherry came out of nowhere, probably sitting in the far corner of her peripheral vision. She wasn’t what she imagined, her perfect face more wholesome than Dwight’s, but she knew from experience that you couldn’t really put a science to attraction or relationships.

“Hi, Sherry,” she smiled back, knowing full well Dwight stood directly behind her. 

She saw her eyes dart over her shoulder, getting an eyeful of who she used to love before they landed on her again. “Let’s go and get you settled.” She squeezed her hand tenderly and pulled her away from the rest of the women before Negan could say anything clever.

“So, you’re Sherry?” She couldn’t hold herself back now that they were alone.

“Yeah.” She led her through another door to a shower and turned on the water. “Why do you ask?” She smiled fakely, trying her best to cover up the interest in who spoke her name to the girl from Alexandria. 

“Negan… I thought this dress was… something else. I thought, umm… the way Dwight reacted to it, I thought he was going to kill me in it.” She paused and slid the black heels off her feet. “I was in that cell for so long, and after what happened with Daryl, I…”

“You know Daryl?” She swooped in behind her and helped her unzip the back of her dress. 

“YOU know Daryl?!” She turned her head to look at her. 

“We met briefly on the road, when D and I tried to…” she took in a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter.” She smiled again, this time more sad than fake. She undid her bra and pointed to the shower. “Negan will want you clean for tonight.”

Her bra slid down the front of her arms, hitting the floor silently. Being naked in front of a stranger was usually the most nerve-wracking thing Blossom could ever imagine, but for some reason this was the most comfortable she’d been in the past two weeks.

“Is that what got Dwight’s face burned off? Is that why you’re here now?” She had so many questions, and such little time with Sherry to attempt to get them answered. She didn’t care that she was naked anymore, and wished she was spending the night with her instead of Negan. 

“Dwight got the iron because we tried to escape.” She looked at the floor. “I’m here as collateral, to keep him safe. Just like you’re here to keep Daryl and Rick safe.” 

“He does this to his own people?” She couldn’t imagine being a part of a community that did this on a regular basis, but accepted the fact that she no longer had a choice in the matter.

Sherry pointed to the shower again. “As long as we keep him happy, he won’t harm them.”

“And how are we doing that, exactly?” She rose her eyebrows to get the desired effect. “I mean, I guess I’m trying to figure out… what should I expect tonight?”

Sherry put a hand on her back and escorted her into the shower. “You’re his wife now, like all of us.”

Wife. Wife… wife? She said the word in her head so many times that it lost its meaning entirely. Wife? What would someone like him want with a wife? And so many? She looked back at Sherry who scolded her into the shower with a stare. 

The shower was warm, despite the frigid news of her unholy matrimony. Just like in Alexandria, Sherry made her cut her time short after she shaved and washed up. The resources in this community seemed to be a little more scarce than they were back home, but they were amenable nonetheless. She dried off with a clean-smelling towel before slipping back into her dress and high heels. Sherry continued in absolute silence as she helped with her hair and makeup. 

This all seemed so surreal. How did she go from watching Negan beat Abraham to death, to rotting in a cell, to… this? The brush Sherry used on her hair was surprisingly soothing, the bristles a mix of horse hair and wire to straighten out her tangles. The makeup she used on her face was minimal, a light coat of mascara, blush, and lipstick to highlight her natural features. She set her hair in a way that would dry in natural waves, signaling that she had done this before; on how many of these women, Blossom couldn’t be sure, but she was good at it.

“There,” she sighed, taking a step back to look at her work. “You look beautiful.”

Blossom smiled back, standing up to look in the mirror at herself, this person she no longer recognized. It was as if she hadn’t killed all those walkers along the way to Alexandria, as if she hadn’t lost her parents and brothers in Tennessee. It was almost as if she was getting ready to play a part in a local play, something she was a little more familiar with. She touched her loose curls that lay over her shoulder and got ready to play the role of wife, or girlfriend, or prostitute, or whatever. 

“Thank you,” she lied, dreading the next step in this inevitable process.


	7. Chapter 7

She must’ve been out of her goddamn mind to think she could meddle in the middle of this mess, this game of chess when she was so defenseless; but she had to try. She wished to God Negan would have chosen Rosita that morning instead of her. She at least had a habit of spreading her legs for anyone who came knocking on her door, and would’ve done a hell of a lot better job at this than her. 

Wish though she might, Blossom stood before Negan in his bedroom just the way he’d wanted her. All of the elements of a romantic dinner were there: candles, music, two different plates full of food she’s only dreamt about and champagne. She never really liked dating or all the societal pressures that came with it. She never thought she’d have to deal with something like this again after what had happened, but here she was, back in a misogynist world run by a rich white man. 

“Holy SHIT!” Negan stood up from one of the couches and walked over to her. “You look like a goddamn Bond Girl!” He traced his fingers through her hair. “I mean, you looked good before, but DAMN!” He leaned back with the last word, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“Sherry did a good job, didn’t she?” She fixed the wave Negan messed up in her locks. 

“Oh it has nothing to do with Sherry, but yeah!” He scanned her with dark eyes, slowly stepping forward as the gap between them closed. 

“Is all that food for us?” She avoided his intense stare, feeling her muscles tighten up. 

“Yup.” He glanced over at the table then back at her. “You hungry?” He grinned again, rolling his tongue across his perfectly white teeth. 

“A little,” she admitted, seeing a cheeseburger and fries set out for both of them. 

“Look Blossom, I know this is all a little fucked up… I bop two of your friends, put you in a cell, almost kill Daryl right in front of you…” 

“Cut me open in front of Rick.” She rose her eyebrows as her heart fluttered. “Don’t forget that.”

“All for show.” He reassured her, grinning like the joker he thought he was. “Sometimes you have to be a little dramatic to get your point across.” He walked over to the table, picking up two glasses bubbling with champagne. “You think I liked killing your friends like that? That I lost Big Red when I could have used him for so many things here at the Sanctuary? You think I wanted to stay up all morning kicking Rick the Prick’s ass in that RV until he figured out who’s in charge?”

She blinked, not sure what he wanted her to say. 

“Kind of,” he chuckled, handing her the glass. “The point is, Blossom, people are a resource. They only remain a resource if they see things the same way as you do.” He took a sip. “You and I… those women out there… we all need to be on the same page.”

“And what page is that?” She took a large sip, hoping the alcohol would stop her from caring about what happened next.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” His tone changed. It was soft, gentle, even as he looked her dead in the eye. “All of that shit with the bat and the knives and the cell… that’s all in the past. You’re my wife now, and I will do everything in my power to provide for and protect you.” He traced the outline of her face with his knuckles. “All I ask from my wives in return is that they love me.” He followed suit and finished his glass. 

“Love?” What an odd fucking word to come out of his mouth. Love? Ha! Love? Wait… maybe she could use this void against him, somehow fill the gap inside of him in a different way...

“I need to know that you’re on board, for your sake and for Rick and Daryl’s… Before we eat, I just need to hear you say those three little words.” He ghosted her shoulder with his fingertips.

“I love you, Negan.” She chanted, finally looking up into his eyes. 

“Good.” He smiled, walking over to the table.

Of course he didn’t say it back. Why did she even think that he would? Ugh, this guy had more issues than her psychology courses had prepared her for. Probably mommy issues. An abusive father, maybe, and none of them had time to give him the affection he needed as a child so he spent his free time killing animals out in the field when they weren’t looking. Whoa, this alcohol made her jump to conclusions.

“What made you choose me?” She asked, starting her interview process by sitting down on the couch. “I mean, out of all the other girls…”

“Are you shittin’ me?” He sat down, popping a French fry into his mouth. “You’re super hot! And you seemed to be the least messed up out of everyone… I assumed you weren’t with Ginger Spice or China Town, so I wanted to show you what kind of guy I really am.”

“And what kind of guy is that?” She took a bite out of her cheeseburger, the black bean mixture throwing her off a little. 

“You’re looking at him.” He held his hands out in display as he smirked at her, finally swallowing his French fry. “A man of his word.”

The rest of the meal went on in silence, amazing Blossom that he could shut up long enough to put any amount of food in his mouth. The food offered to her was simple for its time, but gourmet to her in the midst of the apocalypse. She imagined Negan had rooms full of refrigerators, freezers, and cabinets. He had to have a giant kitchen somewhere with at least three stovetops and ovens at the ready, with ample cooks to man them. He didn’t skimp on the condiments or garnishes, either, telling her that they had a fresh garden somewhere outside. That moldy bread he forced her to eat up until now was just a tactic, after all.

After their meal and a few more glasses of champagne, Blossom made her way over to the bed. She hopped up onto the soft down comforter, hoping she would at least blackout during the act itself before enjoying a little bit of rest in bed.

Negan stood up and rushed over to her. “Whoa Whoa Whoa, what are you doing, darlin’?” He actually sounded concerned.

“I’m your wife, aren’t I?” She could feel the alcohol as it pulsed through her veins, heating up her entire body as she spread her legs. This is what Rosita would have done, isn’t it?

“You think I’m going to try and fuck you tonight? After all that I’ve done to you?” His face was serious, his tone even moreso.

“I honestly never know what you’re gonna do,” she admitted.

“You’re drunk.” He placed his hand on her shoulder to prevent her from toppling over.

“I’m not drunk!” She spat out mockingly. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten drunk, so he may’ve been right.

“This is a lot of shit to pile on you right now, I get that. I also get that you’re not ready, and if you’re not ready, it’s not going to be any fun for either of us.” He took in a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling before glancing back at her. “Look, do you honestly think I have time to sleep with eight, now, nine wives?”

She stared at him, aghast. Even in her drunken stupor she could tell he was being honest. His face was somber, and not that fake somber shit he pulled that morning when he said that this must be really hard on them. No, this was something different entirely. 

“You don’t…” she let her mouth hang open. “But all these women are here for…”

“All for show, Blossom. Just like you.” He squeezed her shoulder. Maybe he was telling her this because she was drunk, and she might forget their conversation in the morning. Or maybe he just wanted her to actually feel safe.

“Wha…?” All for show? But the way he spoke, the way he walked, the way he… was all contradicted that fact. She may not be able to feel sexual attraction herself, but she could tell the signs of someone who was hyper sexual. Everything he did and said dripped with sexuality, the way he looked at her, at Rick and Rosita… none of this was making sense. 

“All I need is for their brothers, husbands and fathers to THINK that I’m sleeping with them. That keeps my wives happy, and the men in line.” He pulled the covers down her legs and covered her up, resting her head on the pillow. “Like I said, Blossom, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This monster, this tyrant, this thing… actually had some decency? She turned in bed and watched him strip down to his boxers and join her in bed, warming up the mattress. He looked like a man, with skin and hair covering the muscles he used to torture her and her people for the past few weeks. Maybe under all of that psychosis, he still had some hope in him yet.


	8. Chapter 8

She woke to cold fingers wrapped around her lips, startling her in bed from their sudden contact. Had Negan lied to her after dinner? Was it all just a ploy to get her to trust him so he could take what he wanted while she slept?

“Shh,” Rick whispered, tilting her head so she could see him crouched down next to her. He put his other fingers to his lips as he motioned for her to get out of bed. 

Rick… Rick… Rick! Her eyes widened with excitement when she realized he wasn’t some kind of vision, some drunken hallucination her brain had fashioned to help her get through this night. He was actually there, his axe in his hand and the moon in his hair. But wait, what if Negan…

Rick pointed at Negan’s snoring form as he let go of her mouth, beckoning a second time for her to get out of bed. His eyes were wild with fear and determination as he took an account of all the exit points in the room. 

Blossom wished to God she hadn’t gotten as drunk as she did earlier. Why did she have to drink four glasses of champagne? Why couldn’t she have just drank one? Why couldn’t she have stayed alert enough to take in everything he told her? Maybe then getting out of this bed wouldn’t be so goddamn difficult. 

Rick held onto her as she stumbled out of the down comforter, catching her limbs before they could make a sound against the hardwood floor. His familiar scent flooded her senses, placing her back to the day they first met on the road while reminding her how powerful a drug alcohol really was. The sweat from his curls dripped onto her neck in an uneven pattern as she wrapped herself around him, his heart beating erratically against his chest. 

He took in a deep breath before lifting her up, doing his best not to run into anything as he made his way to the large window that made up most of the wall. He set Blossom down against the couch as he opened the window and glanced back at Negan. He let out a sigh of relief to find that he was still asleep. 

The window opened to Michonne as she reached her hands out to Blossom, her sword secure in its sheath on her back. “Come on,” Michonne whispered, lifting her up and over the barrier. 

Blossom winced as she climbed out of the building, the pebbles on the rooftop piercing her bare feet as she stepped out of view. She held onto Michonne, doing her best to keep her balance as she stepped over the dead body that was supposed to be standing guard for the Sanctuary. His head had been sliced in half.

Michonne looked her up and down, taking the scarf off her head and ripping it in half with her teeth. She bent down and wrapped each half around Blossom’s feet, giving her makeshift shoes while she stood on the uneven rooftop. She smiled as she finished tying her left foot and stood up as Rick climbed out of the window.

“Let’s go,” he mouthed to them, playfully shaking a walkie talkie he stole from Negan’s bedside. He pointed to the opposite end of the roof and slid his shoulder under Blossom’s arm, watching Michonne follow suit as they started to make it across the pebble-covered surface. 

Blossom did her best to move her feet as the alcohol continued to make her sluggish. She held onto her friends as tightly as she could, grateful they had risked coming to get her, but afraid of what Negan might do if he woke up. Would he kill them all? Would he spare Rick again? It was hard to tell. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure he hadn’t noticed her absence and realized they had reached the end of the roof. 

“Nice and easy, okay?” Rick held onto her as Michonne climbed down the ladder first. His eyes scanned her wavering figure, his concern for her paternal as he patted her down for any injuries. He could tell she was impaired and not just sleepy, his late night calls at the sheriff’s station flashing back to him, but didn’t bother asking her about it just yet. Who knew what Negan made her drink while she was with him? Or what he made her take? He would have time to ask her all that once they were safe in Alexandria.

“Your turn,” he coached her. 

Blossom backed up onto the ladder, the sweaty silk of Michonne’s scarf slipping on the rungs coated with a fresh morning’s dew. She could hear Michonne whisper to her, the sound of her voice warm and comforting as she took each step closer to the ground. She kept her eyes directly in front of her, on her white knuckles as she clasped onto each rung in fear of losing her balance if she looked anywhere else. The last step turned into more gravel beneath her feet as Michonne pulled her away from the building to make room for Rick. She must have been moving a lot slower than she thought.

A quick whistle sounded, forcing Rick to pull his axe out of his belt and Michonne her sword from its sheath. Blossom turned around slowly to see Daryl with his crossbow at the ready. 

“All the scouts are out. Let’s go.”

 

There was no time for emotional reunions outside the Sanctuary walls when they stole her from her sleep. Daryl tossed her over his shoulder as they ran off into the woods to find a car they’d fixed up on the side of the road. Rick had wanted something different after Negan saw their vehicles on his previous visit, although he would probably figure out who took her. The four of them rode in silence as Blossom drifted in and out of sleep in the back seat, her head safe in Daryl’s lap.

She barely woke when they drove through the gates of Alexandria, the sounds and sensations of Daryl getting her out of the car and up the stairs failing to phase her in her current state. As far as she was concerned, it was just another drunken night before the world had ended, and her friends were taking care of her after a bad night out at the club.

Only it wasn’t a bad night out, not even close. She rubbed the sleepy intoxication from her eyes as she sat up in bed, watching Daryl unwrap the shredded bits of scarf from her feet. 

“Daryl,” she smiled.

“It’s good te have ya back,” he grumbled, his lips turning up just enough to display a smile in the Daryl Dixon code of facial expressions.

She pulled her foot away as the scarf rubbed against a pebble that had gotten stuck between the cloth and her skin, cutting into the curve of her foot. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, rubbing the skin around it. He pulled a clean roll of gauze from beside him and wrapped it around her wound, glancing up at her every now and again as he continued to wrap it like a mummy. 

She winced, glaring at Daryl as he taped the entire roll of gauze around her tiny cut. Even as it wore off, the alcohol had made her touchy despite how overjoyed she was to be back in her own bed. No more Negan, no more Dwight, no more fear. She was home.

Daryl stared at his handywork and nodded, holding onto her foot for dear life as he weighed the pros and cons of his thoughts in silence. Worried eyes shifted back and forth under messy brown locks as her foot rested on his knee. He cleared his throat and squeezed her ankle tightly before letting out a heavy sigh. 

“Rick said he found you in his bed.” He wasn’t accusing or speculating. His tone was more factual, but she could still tell he was confused.

“He made me sleep there,” she told him.

“He made you?” His eyes shot daggers whether he wanted them to or not. “He make you wear that dress, too?”

She lifted her foot off his knee and turned away from him, the chill of his words freezing her shoulders. She didn’t expect her welcoming party to be so goddamn judgmental. “He locked me in a cell before that. Gave me a piece of moldy bread every few days when he remembered I was there.” She sat up and scooted to the opposite side of the bed, refusing to look back at him.

Silence. 

Daryl was always quiet, but this was different. This silence was thick, filled with dread and regret as it rang loudly in her ears; or maybe that was just the alcohol. She could tell that his wheels were turning, the worst fears of someone like them in the hands of someone like him playing out in his brain. Had it kept him up at night? Worried him sick until he convinced Rick and Michonne to come along with him? She didn’t imagine Rick was the one to initiate her rescue party.

“Did he try to…” He couldn’t bring himself to even finish his sentence, the possibilities at the end too grave for him to deal with. 

“No,” she eased his mind, shaking her head. “He didn’t. He wasn’t…” She didn’t know how to explain her encounter with him without sounding sympathetic. 

“Hey,” He cleared his throat and sat down next to her, taking her hand and squeezing it. “We’re gonna get ‘im.”

“Promise?” She asked, leaning into his shoulder.

“Promise.”


End file.
